Raven On His Shoulder
by Emii
Summary: Rachel came back, so Jonathan Crane turned the tables... [Chapter 7 up, FINISHED! Thank you so much for all your reviews. Revised final chapter...please check back!]
1. Once More With Feeling

Jonathan Crane watched with mild interest as Rachel's eyelids fluttered under the influence of the gas. In the end, it was her own fault this had happened. He had simply taken the opportunity.

The silly girl had come back again, striding in with her head high, determined to take him down, spouting all her legal jargon about his illegal activities. Imagine his…concern…when his usual concentrate had no effect on her – Miss Dawes had simply stood before him and laughed. To him, her attitude had seemed surprisingly childlike for a District Attorney.

He had smiled calmly, reached down and simply changed the settings before giving her another faceful of the airborne toxins. That had soon wiped the smile off her face - she had expected to worry him…for her immunity to make him feel fear.

Insolent female. Hadn't she realised that he knew there would be a cure…a vaccination in the running? It was only a matter of time, and all he'd had to do was up the stakes…add a little more. It was only a few days since the fear gas had ineffectually spread through Gotham City, and she knew she'd find him back here…

And now, here she was, twitching on his medical work-surface like a butterfly on a pin.

Crane turned and left the room, heels clicking on the polished floor. On the way out, he switched off the lights and let the thick metal door secure itself behind him. Another amused smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

Here she was, just where he wanted her.

- -

Rachel's eyes stopped fluttering and snapped open in the darkness. She could feel the beads of sweat standing on her forehead and she reached up quickly to brush them away.

Where was she? Did she dream that stupid stunt in the grounds of the Asylum?

The sensation of cold metal under her fingertips told her otherwise, and she bit her lip in panic and humiliation. A stream of questions raced into her confused mind:

How long had she been out for? What had he used? Wasn't she inoculated?

Rachel unconsciously touched the small, bruised area on her arm where Fox had inserted the needle. It was a defence against the Scarecrow's fear gas…it was supposed to keep her safe…

Then she remembered. Crane was a scientist – he was always looking for a new way to create fear – no matter what they found to protect themselves with, it was just going to escalate.

The door opened, and she shielded her eyes from the artificial light that flooded the room. She struggled to recognise the black figure in the doorway – her head hurt, and she felt exhausted from the adrenaline rush…

- -

"You're awake. I expected you would be – perhaps someone who hadn't already been dosed would have been in downtime for longer." Crane pushed his spectacles up the bridge of his nose, and began to arrange various bottles and test tubes with absentminded calmness, as if she had just walked in late to a meeting with him. He kept his gaze away from her, though she could see two blistering burns on his left cheekbone, most likely from her TASER gun.

"What's all this?" Rachel tried to sit up as two of Crane's men entered the room and made a beeline for her. She tried to leave the work surface as they took their places on either side of her, but her legs gave way after what must have been hours of nervous muscle work. Despite the cramp, she kicked out as one of them caught her by the wrists and forced them behind her back. She received a swift slap to the face from the second, who then bundled her legs under one arm and held them fast. She screamed on contact, and the Doctor of Psychology, with his back to her, paused his arranging and smirked to himself.

"I won't be long, gentlemen. Please wait for me."

She was intriguing enough without a catalyst, he mused, as she was carried screaming out of the lab. The muffled sounds that carried on as she was tied to a chair and gagged in the interview room next door inspired a spark of excitement in the back of his mind. He considered the idea.

She isn't afraid, she just thinks she is – it is the reflex action of the dominant female mind when forced into submission.

Crane flicked a few specks of dust from the work surface and refilled the canister for his gas. She would probably take a small amount of work, but it was nothing he wouldn't enjoy.


	2. Twice With Remorse

"You've encountered my little gadget before, haven't you, Miss Dawes?" Crane repositioned the arm-brace so it fitted more comfortably around his wrist. It let out a series of small clicks as he pushed in a button or two, and he looked up to see her eyeing it carefully.

"There's more to it than meets the eye, as well you know." He ran another clean, metal edged chair across the floor and sat opposite her. He noticed that the ropes were slightly tight across her torso, digging into the black pencil skirt and modest blouse. Honestly, if you were going to confront someone, you could at least do it wearing something you could run away in…

She responded angrily through the cloth around her mouth, and he gently removed it, as if dealing with caustic chemicals.

"You disgust me. Is this what you get off on? Scaring people?" Her hair fell into her face and she shook it back.

He stood up and began to pace, his voice quiet and unassuming. "No. Well, I suppose a little. I prefer to study it, actually. I like to pair up cause and response and all that…"

She spat. "Save it and let me go."

He raised an eyebrow in mock surprise. "You really don't have time for manners, do you, Miss Dawes? I could let you go any time I choose to, but first I wanted you to show me something."

Carefully he pushed some stray strands of dark hair back into place, and sat down in front of her again. He adjusted his rimless glasses and pushed up his sleeve to focus on the arm-brace. It was strange…only a few days before his own toxins had displaced his mind, and now he seemed as cool and collected as the moment she had confronted him outside the courtroom. Crane should be mad…a lunatic on the run…yet he had only returned and continued his research in the basement of Arkham Asylum.

"I was pleased with my progress in inducing irrational fear. Citizens running away from completely normal entities is all very well and good, but I'm looking for something deeper."

Rachel remained silent, so he persisted.

"This is a substance that, as you might have guessed, induces terror in the human mind. Possibly animals too, but I don't believe in animal testing – which leads me to my next point. You will be my test subject for this evening." His lips twitched slightly with amusement, but she continued to glare at him.

"This is a more interesting dosage." He offered. "It builds on natural or existing fears. All it needs is a trigger, and then it's all go from there. The test subject's regular phobia will suddenly become their worst nightmare, and I'm guessing they'll be pretty much incapacitated by the experience – the desired effect. I'm hoping you will aid me in my search for a gas that allows me to 'plant' specific phobias in my subjects' minds."

Rachel lurched forward, the chair nearly toppling with her. Crane hardly flinched at her sudden movement - it was to be expected.

"No! I won't! Let me go!" She twisted against the ropes, but got nowhere. The ropes were much too tight, to his disappointment. He was hoping he would see an aggressive-fear struggle in its prime.

No matter. He nodded his approval. "Good, your adrenaline is already pumping, and I'm guessing your nerves are already on edge. It's nice to see you're all set up."

He sprayed a long burst of blue tinted gas at her face, as she choked and kicked her bound feet in desperation.

- -

Crane set aside the last slide in annoyance. The slide show displaying the triggers for common phobias had had no effect. Neither had a random selection of lesser-known phobias. Two hours had passed, and he had exhausted all hands-on resources for fear induction. By now, his men had lost interest and had resorted to standing guard outside the interview room. The Doctor shut off the projector and returned to his seat – he had earlier turned her chair around to face the screen, so he was now sitting behind her. The clock ticked noisily on the fair wall, showing ten to one. They had reached the early hours of the morning.

"You're a difficult one to work with, did you know that?" He steepled his fingers and watched the back of her head over them. He blinked, and realised he'd missed something. A tiny movement, barely noticeable. He lent on the arm of the chair and rested his chin on his hand, studying her intently.

"I said…did you know that?"

It was there again – the smallest of flinches in the shoulder area. A nervous reaction – she was anxious, but not yet afraid enough to trigger the toxins. He noted that the new batch should provoke at this stage. The question was, what was causing the sub-fear?

Crane continued to talk to her from behind for a while, where she couldn't see him, in the possibility that it might be unseen threat that roused her. Occasionally he noticed the reaction again, but it wasn't enough. He attempted various tactics, walking around the area behind her, letting his shoes click loudly on the tiles in an effort to intimidate her, and leaving the room quietly, only to return after a few minutes. After forty minutes, much to his pleasure, a pattern appeared.

- -

Something pounded intently at the back of Rachel's mind, as the footsteps got closer. She willed herself to stay still, and sit it out, but she couldn't see where Crane was.

As if a switch was flicked, she suddenly became incredibly aware of the room, and the sensation was not a pleasant one. The walls were too white, the clock too loud, the surroundings too…clinical.

In her mind's eye the figure of Crane in his suit regarded her quietly. He had always been like that…quiet, calculative…giving nothing away.

There was no reason for it that she would care to admit, but Rachel didn't like it and her skin began to crawl. Her vision began to drift in and out of focus as the echoing footsteps came to a halt directly behind her.

- -

"There is always something, Miss Dawes. Fear is a survival trait - the notion that a person doesn't possess such a thing is, frankly, ridiculous." He stepped slowly towards her shaking body. "And…do you know…I think I've just hit the nail on the head."

He stepped sideways around her chair and looked down at her. She avoided his gaze, as her bottom lip began to tremble. Slowly, he cocked his head and considered her movements.

"After this evening, Miss Dawes, I believe we've built a relationship of sorts." He pushed up his glasses, and his voice softened. He reached to her face and tipped her chin upwards to face him.

"I believe…that just ever so slightly…you fear me."

- -

Outside, the two men glanced at each other as the Doctor's subject began to shriek in terror.


	3. Third Time's The Charm

The toxin, it was revealed, stopped affecting the human system after a few hours. Rachel remained in her chair, unbound, twitching occasionally as her nerves failed. It was impossible to focus properly…sweat was running down her back, and she was still in the same room as that disgusting…creepy…

Rachel began to shake uncontrollably again. Crane continued to observe her with deep interest from his seat opposite, his legs crossed and an index finger rested under his nose. She glanced briefly at him and began to pull, maybe slightly too hard, at a strand of hair.

"Let me go."

"I'd rather not."

She froze, and looked up at his blunt retort. Crane shifted, cleared his throat and placed his hands along the armrests.

"You must understand, I can't have you running off to the police. Having them take samples, finding out my research plans…I'll never learn anything that way." He paused momentarily. "Besides, my tests with my first subject have only just begun"

"I don't want to be your test subject anymore." Her voice came out as a choked whisper, and a tear rolled down her face. She didn't notice it and started to chew a fingernail – he noticed that the floor had recently become a worthy point of focus for her. It was funny how they always look down when cornered – he rarely saw a positive glance upwards in his investigations.

Crane sighed and massaged his temples slowly. "I'm sorry, but if you hadn't come back I wouldn't have had to use you. You were an opportunity and I took it. You must understand." He apologised, his to-the-point tone making the situation seem completely normal.

Normal! A small voice in Rachel's head screamed madly. You're a guinea pig, for Christ's sake! How abnormal can you get?

She blinked and shook her head. A white halo had lent itself to everything around her, and no amount of blinking could take it away. She felt exhausted again, dehydrated and lacking control over herself.

Crane rose and started to connect wires to what looked like a bulky laptop with a limited screen. "I want to monitor your brain activity. It won't hurt, and to be honest the sooner you agree, the quicker my research will be over."

"Please just let me go. I'll do anything…" The tears overflowed, and the D.A. broke down, her adrenaline pumping like her mind was going to give in. Crane paused.

"…Anything?"

"Anything." She said, stupidly.

He took her by the wrist and measured her racing pulse. She struggled half-heartedly out of his grip and struck out at him. Calmly, he backhanded her across the face in one sharp movement, and carried on as is nothing had happened.

"The toxins will remain in your body. I hope you realise that they could kick-start again at any time, provided they have the right stimuli – your personal fears. I will let you leave, but you must return to me…every evening. I'll run tests, keep a log of results, side effects and so forth…" He regarded her steadily as she opened and shut her mouth in silent protest. "If you run to the cops, I run after you, and they'll never catch up. Do I make myself clear?"

She nodded dumbly. He furrowed his brow at her incoherent response. "Miss Dawes…if you cause me problems, I have many people who know where you live, and where to find you. Do you understand?"

Rachel nodded again, the colour draining from her face. She was an experiment…a rat in a cage…a puppet to a deranged Doctor. There was nothing she could do about it…

He approached her again, and she shut her eyes to attempt to block out the negative emotions that involuntarily swamped her mind. She could feel his presence in her personal space. There was nothing but Crane in those two feet she was supposed to have for her own.

"Miss Dawes?"

She opened her eyes. Crane was crouched next to her seat, his face deadpan, and less than a foot from hers…the burns on his cheek slightly swollen and red, with a dotted scab in the centre of each welt.

"I'm really nothing to be afraid of."

Rachel missed his satisfied smile as she blacked out, but felt the crack exchanged between her skull and the floor as she slid from her chair.


	4. Back And Fourth

After all the windows were checked, and all the doors locked and barricaded, Rachel turned on the TV set. It was the closest thing she could have for company, and in all fairness, she didn't want it. A news report mentioned undercover medical research, and the efforts of the press to find out what was going on. A shot of Arkham Asylum in daylight loomed on the set, and Rachel stopped listening. She wasn't going to bring that place into her home…

A shadow outside her window caught her eye as she turned the TV off. Slowly, she put the remote back on the settee beside her and squinted through the glass into the blackness. It wasn't a tree…there weren't any on that side of the house…

The shadow took a step forwards and she stifled a scream – Crane had people roaming around outside her place…he was checking up…making sure that she didn't do anything stupid…didn't do anything to jeopardise his precious work…

She grabbed the phone and began to press 911 before she realised that the dial tone was missing. Someone had cut her phone line…someone who didn't want her calling the cops. She was trapped in her house, and Crane could be nearby, even in the house. She pictured him seated comfortably in his car outside her driveway, watching the lit windows and giving calculated orders to his henchmen…

There was a click and a comforting hum in her ear. She realised, in her panic, she'd been holding down the 'end call' button. The breath she had been holding rushed out in relief - Rachel replaced the receiver gingerly, and began to laugh manically as a black silhouette tapped at her kitchen window.

A silhouette sporting an angular black mask.

- -

She pressed a hand against the windowpane, Bruce still waiting on the other side. His low voice could just be heard through the glass as he tried to check up on his childhood friend.

"Let me in, Rachel." His expression didn't change when she shook her head. She looked more pale than usual, and he supposed her eyes were ringed through lack of decent sleep. "Who are you with?"

"No-one. I just can't. Go away, Bruce." Her voice rose a notch, and she prevented herself from biting her lip in front of him.

"You don't trust me – this isn't like you." The mask gave nothing away, and he didn't offer to share. She paused knowing people could be watching…Crane would know if he'd been. She couldn't talk to him.

"It's not that…just go. There's nothing here, I've got a long day ahead and I need some sleep."

Please stay, she pleaded silently. The telephone trilled, and she turned away for a split second. "I've got to…" She looked back to the glass to find her back yard empty and still. She was alone, and the only person who knew how badly she felt was a crazed scientist who awaited her return, in the basement of an insane asylum.

- -

"I'm pleased, Miss Dawes. Your fears appear to have elevated." Crane's voice was unassuming as usual, and slightly gravely over the landline. She resisted the urge to hang up, her fingers sliding in sweat on the receiver.

"You're watching me."

"Not personally, no. I don't watch over people at home – I find that to be a pointless pastime. I feel the need to analyse your behaviour for the next twenty-four hours. I hope this isn't a problem." There was a click, and the line went dead.

Rachel Dawes, she thought. Rat in a cage.

- -

The new toxins were working perfectly, if better. Not only were fears and concerns amplified, they were brought to the surface to remain there…ever-present. Imagine a community of nervous wrecks…completely willing to bend and change at command, simply due to an everlasting fear…

It was perfect.

Crane let out a short breath and made a few notes in a notepad before locking it away in a filing cabinet. The biggest test was tomorrow evening – the girl's scheduled return. The least she could do was come back, after the way she treated him.

He ran his fingertips over his burns, which were now slightly hard and sore to the touch. His lower eyelid on the same side twitched with the pain, and he allowed himself to wince. Supposedly injury was a small price to pay for his sanity – the gas concentrate had, at the time, wiped his mind of all sense…or rather, the effects had. He now knew that madness felt like leaving your body…but what had brought him back?

Crane twisted one of the probes from the TASER between his fingers, the broken insulated wire frayed at one end. What part had it played? His lucidity had only returned after the shock…

Eventually, he concluded that Miss Dawes' actions had been a crude equivalent of Electric Shock Therapy – through the pain, his mask of fear had been lifted and he had felt relatively normal, but empowered, like something had been added to his mind. Another section.

He called this part of his mind The Scarecrow.


	5. Fifth Stitch In Time

Footsteps echoed loudly on the polished floor, and the corridor turned orange as a light was flicked on. Rachel swallowed, her mind screaming at her to turn around and go home, forget about Crane, and call the police. Her sense told her otherwise – Crane would be waiting…all it took was a pager message and she'd be on the run from various authorities under his power.

Her heels clicked as she made her way back to the interview room. She looked creased and dishevelled, having not slept a wink the night before and wearing the same clothes as her first meeting with him. The blood pounded in her veins as each footfall brought her closer to the metal, bolted door. She thought of her warm sofa, and her friendly TV…how she had shunned it…she thought about Bruce's visit…

"Miss Dawes. Thank you for coming." Rachel realised she had stopped outside the door, and hovered there as she let her imagination run away with her. Crane had opened the door and was now waiting patiently.

"…Are you coming in or not?" He stared at her over the top of his spectacles. She nodded sharply and he gave her a satisfied smile. She stepped past him and he offered her a clinical seat in the middle of the room as he took the adjacent one – he didn't seem to have rearranged anything from the previous night.

"So…" He picked up his notebook and rested an ankle on his knee, though still sitting perfectly bolt upright. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm not your patient." She shot, feeling the unconvinced quiver in her voice return…it kept coming back. She saw him blink slowly and glance elsewhere in an irritated way.

"Miss Dawes, we can do this the hard way, or the easy way. Which would you prefer?" He waited, tapping his ballpoint against the edge of his pad.

- -

The hard way would mean more work, but he might just give up and let me go if I make it too difficult…but he'd never do that because I could go to the police…he might just make me go mad and lock me up with his other nutcases…I don't want to be a fruit-loop…I just want to go home…the easy way might just get me out of it quicker…

- -

"I see. Very well, we'll do it your way."

Rachel was jerked out of her battling thoughts as Dr. Crane rose from his chair and tended to his briefcase. She must have stayed silent too long – he thought she was being uncooperative. The D.A. sat up straight and began to panic – what was he doing?

Seating himself again, he opened the case in his lap and pulled out a familiar piece of sacking. "Yet another of my little gadgets, Miss Dawes. I believe you've seen this one before, too?"

He slipped the mask over his face and hit the release button on the corner of the briefcase. The gas spewed into the room and she coughed and jerked, trying not to breathe it in. In an instant her senses felt like they had been dumped under cold water – the walls blinded her, and this…creature…stepped out of the light and into her frame of vision. She flailed as sounds roared deafeningly in her ears.

"Is this how you wanted to do it?" The Scarecrow rasped into her face. Rachel screamed and clawed at the material, trying to push it away, but drew back and fell from her chair in repulsion as an army of maggots squirmed out of the seams.

"Is this what you wanted to see? Did you think this would get you out?" The Scarecrow stood over her, looming amongst the pulsating walls. His voice was distorted and scratchy, the words etching into her mind. Rachel howled and writhed, trying to get him out of her vision.

Crane paused, removed the mask, and stood before the trembling, crying girl…still with notebook in one hand. He detected her beginning to compose herself, and let her remove her hands from her face. He smiled his usual lop-sided smile, lips always closed, but it faded as her eyes widened again on sight of the Doctor unmasked.

Doctor Jonathan Crane was smiling knowingly at her amongst the vibrations; lips still stitched together like those in his mask. She began to scream in terror, and threw herself facedown on the floor.

This was a turn up for the books, he thought, and started to scribble furiously.

- -

"Enlighten me…why are you afraid of me?" Crane later asked casually, still writing. Rachel blinked – she didn't quite know herself, though to be fair, he hadn't done himself any favours over the past fortnight.

He laid his pen down with a click. "You fear me…when you know what I do, why I do it, and you know who I am…" He dampened his lips. "How about the Batman?"

Rachel apprehensively looked him in the eye. Did he know about Bruce? Did one of the most dangerous scientists of the mind know who the Batman was?

"Batman keeps his identity a secret." He continued. "Nobody knows who he is, where he came from and why he's doing what he does…yet people trust him. You talk to him, let him save your life and your loved ones…without even asking his motive."

"He's a good person. He's trying to help Gotham." She shook her head, trying to comprehend otherwise…Bruce wouldn't jeopardise the city his father loved…would he?

"How do you know? Has The Bat told you this?" He regarded her coolly. She opened her mouth to set him straight, but something niggled.

Bruce had told her. Batman hadn't.

"I thought as much." Crane gave a small cough and made another quick note. "Yet someone like me puts himself out in the open, making it quite clear what he's doing, open to questions…" His voice softened tentatively. "And people panic. They don't listen to reason…they'd rather not know."

"All right then," Rachel challenged uncertainly. "Open to questions…you can uncover the mind from actions…who is the man in the mask?"

"Maybe it's me."

Rachel swore she saw a glint in his eye in the moment before he packed up his mask and commenced with what she could only guess would be a log of his findings, though she wasn't completely convinced by what she'd seen. Perhaps she really was going crazy. He spoke to her without looking up again.

"You may leave now. I'll see you tomorrow evening."

She didn't need to be asked twice.


	6. Sign Of The Devil

Rachel took her shoes off and walked gingerly up the corridor to the interview room, avoiding giving Crane a reason to meet her at the door. She hadn't dared leave her house all day, knowing someone would be watching her wherever she went, so she spent the whole day changing her clothes, trying to find something that didn't repulse her at the thought of wearing to see the Doctor. As she got closer, she could see the yellow line of light under the door was still – perhaps Crane was sitting down, waiting for her to knock.

She tapped softly on the door, glancing around for his usual thugs, but they were nowhere to be seen. After a few seconds of silence, she tapped again, curiosity overcoming her. Crane was far too dedicated to his work to have missed their meeting…perhaps this was his sign that his research was over, and that she could go. Perhaps she could just make a run for it…

Rachel hugged her shoes under her arm, placed both hands on the metal door and pushed slowly. It wasn't bolted, and the catch let out an almost inaudible click as she entered. She peeped around the door and stared around the room, marvelling at its stillness before she noticed the seated figure at the far end. Crane was slumped in his usual place, ankle on knee and arms on the armrests, but unusually still. Both mortified and compelled by the scene before her, she let the door shut behind her and took a few tentative steps forwards – his eyes were closed…

…Perhaps he was…the thought trailed off.

The gentle rise and fall of his chest corrected her. Shoes still in hand, she approached him with as little noise as possible, intrigued by the image of the sleeping Doctor. His hair was in disarray, and he looked tired behind his formal spectacles, with dark circles under his eyes. He shifted slightly, as if he knew unconsciously that he was being watched, and his glasses slipped a centimetre or so down his nose.

Carefully she put her shoes on the floor, removed his glasses and placed them in his jacket's breast pocket, before nervously tucking the stray hair out of his face. Hardly believing what she had just done, Rachel located his notebook on the nearby work-surface, ripped out a page and scribbled a hasty note:

"Doctor Crane,

I came for our meeting, but didn't want to disturb you. No doubt you'll contact me if you wish to reschedule.

Miss Dawes."

Almost horrified at her own formality, she left the note at his feet and made to leave the room as fast as she could. Perhaps she could relax tonight…but she didn't seem to be able to tear her eyes from him, and stalled in the doorway. His words from the night before ticked in her mind:

"Maybe it's me."

Maybe it was, she thought. Batman was the mask in the man…the friend she lost. Batman…Bruce…had told her nothing – she didn't know him anymore. Yet for some reason, she knew the criminal slumbering in the clinical chair before her – he'd been straight with her from the beginning. She hated it, but she knew where she stood…what you see is what you get.

Tomorrow, she decided. Think about it tomorrow.

Rachel jogged away from the interview room before he could wake up, and drove home feeling oddly alive.

- -

As the door clicked shut, Crane opened his eyes leisurely, and listened to the soft padding of feet on tiles. He smiled to himself, relishing in his success.

Compassion was a wonderful thing, providing it wasn't his.


	7. Deadly Sins

Crane rolled the slightly chunky piece of metal in his long fingers, resting his chin in his other hand as he awaited the return of his subject. It was ticking towards 9pm, a whole hour after her usual arrival. His mind buzzed – perhaps she had taken her chance and left. No matter. He would have her found and taken care of – his main concern would be the research from his latest experiment going to waste…

The wail of a police car rose and fell as it passed Arkham Asylum, and he glanced up vaguely at the sound. The last thing he needed was them turning up, especially after all his hard work. Hopefully he had made his mark, and there would be no trouble this evening. Tonight, he would make his link to The Bat's side.

Five past nine. He continued to roll the metal around his fingers, and waited patiently.

- -

Rachel sat nervously in the car park, having swiped herself in an hour earlier. After the night before, she was tempted to make a run for it, leave the whole week behind…but she knew Crane's ways. She knew where he would be and what he would be doing – most likely in his cold interview room, his men less than half a kilometre behind her, wherever she ran…

At least she knew.

A prickle running up the back of her neck, Dawes stepped out of her car, locked the door, and walked briskly towards the dark building. The handles on the entrance were like ice, and she rubbed her bitten fingers when she got inside. Unknown to her, a figure in the shadows noted her every step, before slipping away into the building through another entrance.

- -

"She's on her way. I can hear her." A patient at the asylum, and assistant to Crane called through a crack in the door. Crane ceased his contemplation and placed the metal in his pocket.

"Very well, allow her in when she arrives."

Rachel peered apprehensively around the doorway, looking back at what must have been the two men framing the way out. Crane unfolded his arms and retrieved his notebook.

"Come in, Miss Dawes. Have a seat." He dated the fresh page neatly.

She staggered in, eyes cast downward and legs feeling like rubber. She automatically took her usual seat in them chair opposite him, and her hand went to her hair again.

"How are you feeling today?" Crane didn't look up, making headings and underlining them. Rachel pulled a little harder.

"Nervous." She admitted, with more confidence than she felt, strands of hair snapping under the stress she put on them. "Tired…exhausted even. I don't want to be here."

The Doctor hesitated at her honesty, and glanced up. "We can go somewhere else, if you wish."

"No…I just don't want to be here…in this room. I…I want all this to stop." Her bottom lip began to shake with her voice, and she felt tears sting the back of her eyes. Crane let his breath out audibly and positioned himself straighter in his chair.

"Tell me, do you think this is 'all going to stop'?" He observed her as she shifted further down in her chair, trying to think of an answer that would please him. He noticed her high-necked white dress was creased…it amused him how a patient's appearance would often reflect their mentality. She began to toy with a black-feather earring. "Tell me…" His voice softened as it had done so many times before. "…What will you do if it does stop? Can you imagine this ending?" He began to tap his pen again. "Would you feel safe if it did?"

Rachel shook. She didn't know how she felt anymore. She knew as long as she turned back to him, she was in little danger except from her own petty fears…yet one of them would always be in front of her. On the other hand, her fear was the only thing that was completely honest…

Crane rose swiftly, and dropped his notebook on the seat of the chair. The abrupt movement startled her, and she jumped up as well, knocking the chair over backwards. Surveying her as she backed away a step or two, he absorbed her body language and outward show with interest. White was the colour of innocence – perhaps the body and mind would always be at opposite ends of the spectrum…perhaps that was the very magnet that drew the two together…

He stepped forwards and pressed something into the palm of her hand. Rachel unfurled her fist and gazed at the plain ring in her hand, which was set with a black stone. She looked up in confusion, but his expression remained unrevealing, as ever.

"Take it. It's yours." He gestured briefly. "That is, if you want it. In that ring…all your fears are in one place – if you accept it, you needn't worry about them any more."

She twisted it about between her fingers, studying the characterless ring. She didn't understand what he meant – what was it for? Why would she want it?

"If you accept it, your only concern will be other people's fear. I can keep you safe from your own…you know this."

She considered his words cautiously, aware of being watched, and not understanding. She ran a fingernail alongside the black matte stone, and there was a tiny 'chink' as the front came away, hanging back by a hinge. A small wisp of blue gas snaked out of a minute hole hidden behind it, set deep into the ring, and she coughed, recognising the earthy smell.

The room began to rock, and she fell to her knees before Jonathan Crane, his aura pulsated madly. The stitches in his lips stretched painfully as he spoke to her, and her eyes became wide with terror; her body seizing up, making it impossible for her even to look away.

"Now's your choice, Miss Dawes." His voice was distorted once more. "Here I am, in your raw emotions – you know who I am. You know who I was and will be."

She let out a small whimper, her muscles aching with tension. He threw a canister, seemingly a small refill syringe, into her lap. A blue-green liquid spilled around inside the plastic tube. She twitched her fingers, finding herself still clutching the ring.

"With me, you will always know where your fears lie, and how safe you really are. With me, no one will be trying to kill you…no one will be kidnapping you and holding you to ransom. Take it or leave it, Miss Dawes."

- -

A lifetime passed. Rachel found her way back onto her feet, fear driving her. She slipped the ring onto her finger, her eyes never leaving Crane as the pulse around him began to ebb away…at least in her mind. He offered her his arm, and formally she took it, staring into his face with a mixture of terror and relief. Crane simply looked at her the same way he always had – the fleeting, clinical look as he took in her reactions. Her fixated stare only broke when one of the men from outside burst into the interview room.

"Doctor Crane. There's someone moving around on the ground floor. We caught them on camera."

"Very well, looks like Miss Dawes gets her wish." Crane packed his notebook into his briefcase, straightened his jacket and calmly gestured for her to follow him out of the room. In a daze, Rachel accompanied him to the door, stepping to one side when he turned around. "Of course, I almost forgot…"

Rachel waited for him as he scrawled a short note on notebook paper and left it folded on one of the chairs. It was addressed to a name she couldn't make out from her place by the doorway. As he extended an open palm as an invitation to leave, she exited the room whilst Crane switched off the lights and let the door slam to. Their footsteps echoed along the corridor, Rachel finding herself walking willingly at his side.

"You asked about the man in the mask, Miss Dawes." Crane interrupted the silence between them. "What do you think now?"

It wasn't a question; she could see that. Rachel didn't care, anyhow. She wanted to be safe, to be on the side where others weren't trying to kill her. She wanted the truth.

They came out through a fire escape, and up a set of stone steps into the back car park. At the press of a button Dr. Crane's car unlocked itself, and it's lights shone momentarily across the car park. He opened the passenger door for her – she got in, her face pale and her mind dark, and he joined her on the other side.

"Don't look so nervous, Miss Dawes." He said, casually glancing in the rear-view mirror as he turned the ignition, before turning to her. "I'm really nothing to be afraid of."

"Maybe it's you." She whispered back, the sound of the engine drowning out her words as they left Arkham Asylum.

- -

Bruce strode into the interview room, flicking on the lights and finding it cold and empty. Muffled shouts could be heard between the basement and the ground floor, so he made a start before it became difficult to leave. Listening for the footsteps of those coming to find him, he searched the room to find nothing but a work-surface, two chairs and a note. He unfolded it with a shake of the wrist, and his shoulders slumped as the words sank in.

"Dear Batman,

Scarecrow and the Raven have left the building."

THE END


End file.
